I have met pale folks who toil in cubicles,
                    up high underneath their bosses,
who sweat battery acid over their budgets,
who cross out their days with squeaky marker pens,
who are typing woodpeckers for fifty one weeks.
                    I have met these folks in Spain.
And they complain about the manners of the bell-boy
and their cameras filter granules from the sky,
and they choose chlorine over sea-salt.
                    They do not even speak to crabs.